Chris Jennings’ Blog

With the 2008-’09 season well underway throughout the country, many are still working to figure out where the birds are going to be next. The knowledge of when the birds will arrive in their area is hugely dependent on weather systems, and everyone knows that—they still just like to complain. And while waterfowl have migrated south for more than 10,000 years, the conditions have never been right for many of the waterfowl hunters I know.

It reminds me of when I used to travel to south Florida to go redfish fishing every year. My great-uncle would take us to his secret holes and we would catch some great fish, but if we didn’t, he would claim the tides aren’t right.

“The tides are in; it’s no good,” he would claim one day. “Oh, the tides are out; the fishing just isn’t any good,” he said the next. And on the last day of fishing we would get skunked, and since we were in between tides, he would claim that was just terrible. I walked away from there as a young man believing that tides in general were just bad fishing. Fortunately, I would return to Indiana and catch bass, not having to deal with those unlucky tides.

It’s the exact same with waterfowl hunting. Bluebird skies, cloudy, partly cloudy, foggy, snowy and even a mix of snow and rain are all terrible conditions. Except when you talk to the guy who smacked a limit of ducks and geese on those days—they will tell you those are the ideal conditions for waterfowl hunting.

So, what really are the ideal conditions for waterfowl hunting? Do you think that we, as waterfowl hunters, have fooled ourselves into believing that one weather pattern is better than another? Or is it whatever weather pattern we have on the day the shooting is better?

“We really need some wind to get these birds up,” I’ve heard hunters say repeatedly. The 30-mph wind comes in the next day and you’ll hear, “Man, that wind pushed all these birds out of here.”

I have tried to create a log of weather patterns that are better or worse, but it seems that too often the bird harvest fluctuates whether cloudy or sunny. There is no set correlation between the two.

This is the first year I’ve managed to put my finger on a particular way to judge whether or not the weather conditions are ideal for hunting. Try this trick at home and I’m positive it will work for you. Get out a calendar and mark every day, whether it’s a weekend or a vacation day, that you’ll be able to get out into the field. Those are when you’ll have ideal weather for waterfowl hunting. The other days, while working, just be happy you don’t have to deal with those terrible hunting conditions.

Last week I went on an excellent adventure. I decided to try to walk into one of Arkansas’ great wildlife management areas in search of fat greenheads in flooded timber. I managed to convince two others that the 15-20-minute walk would be cake and we’d be hiking out with our limits in no time at all.

The 45-minute hike through the woods to find the water that morning led us through a maze of beautiful Arkansas forestry, and the flooded timber—once found—was a spectacle in and of itself. Unfortunately, I noticed a familiar trend I had witnessed all too often back home in Indiana: an unending trail of litter that seems to be a staple of many public hunting areas.

I am a public-land hunter. I enjoy the excitement of seeing other groups return to the boat ramp with their harvest. I relish in the fact that others think public land is overcrowded, and I use that to my advantage. I enjoy hunting areas that I feel I have put dollars into over the years with my license and stamp purchases. Whether public- or private-land hunting, even in far-reaching corners of huge properties, the scars of modernization can be found around every corner in the shape of a soda can, grocery sack or possibly even a couch. These remnants are left behind by those who care nothing about the wildness of these properties and show a complete disrespect for others who are there to enjoy them.

I found it interesting to see the cultural differences from Indiana to Arkansas even in the litter that was discarded. Twenty-ounce Mountain Dew bottles seem to make up the bulk of litter in many fish and wildlife areas in Indiana, but my first trek into the Arkansas public land exposed Dr. Pepper and Red Bull cans.  Not that it makes any difference—it’s still unwanted trash in a natural area.

As the sun began to cut through the timber that morning, I leaned against a tree and soaked up the beauty of the flooded timber at daybreak. I watched as the sun’s golden hue managed to wrap around the edges of each tree as it rose higher in the sky. It wasn’t until about 8 a.m. that I began to notice the floating trail of litter. More cans, old shotgun shells, a Styrofoam cup or two, half a 5-gallon bucket, a Busch Light can. It wasn’t everywhere, but it was certainly present, tainting the picturesque sunrise in a hallowed place. It made me wonder what kind of person would leave his trash in such a wonderful place.

Dropping a bottle knowingly isn’t excusable. Finishing off an early-morning YooHoo while leaning against an oak and then chucking it into the timber should be considered an act of treason against those who use the WMA on a regular basis. Littering is littering no matter where it is done, but an outdoorsman or -woman who litters a WMA is much the same as someone who walks out his or her front door and dumps trash in the front yard. It is public property, so technically you, the public, own it. If someone was throwing trash in your front yard, would you want it picked up or at least know who was responsible?

These WMAs need to be policed by other outdoorsmen and -women. Many state agencies don’t have the resources to pick up coffee cups and Coke bottles every day, so it must be up to the owners: the public. Those who use these areas should police it to keep others from littering. It’s easy to begin the process. Every time you go out in the field, if you see an empty bag of Hot Fries floating past or a Slim Jim package stuck in a downed limb, scoop it up and throw it into your decoy bag to dispose of properly back at home.

Simple actions by those of us who consider ourselves conservationists can have a lasting impact on public areas all over the country. Keeping these places free of litter will allow us to spend more time enjoying the sunrise or sunset and offer the sense of wildness we are seeking. If every hunter that hunted public land across the nation took action and began policing THEIR land, the amount of litter on OUR property would be reduced significantly.

The public blind drawing is shrugged off by many hunters as a time-wasting experience where overcrowded public areas are overrun with sky busters and non-stop hail calls.  I am rather fond of public draws, sometimes enjoying the pre-draw anticipation more than anything. Recently, I was fortunate enough to spend a couple mornings crowded into a “waterfowler war room” with hundreds of hopeful hunters on Harsens Island, Mich.

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The blind board on Harsens Island

With the number of blinds at Harsens, there was no chance of not getting a blind on a Tuesday morning, but as hunters began to fill the room, my memories of draws gone terribly wrong were refreshed. As if they were being played on a projector in my head, I flashed through nearly every draw I’d ever been involved in, most of which ended poorly. Mornings where the only blinds left when it was my turn to choose were frozen solid, but I’d walk to the front, listening to the chuckles in the back of the room from other hunters who thought I didn’t know the area was a block of ice, and choose them proudly – only because the dog was too excited to take home that early in the morning.

My heart went out to those who were paired up with me at Harsens Island. It seems to be my destiny to get drawn somewhere near the end, a trait I believe I inherited from my father. Our luck has been noted by many draw attendees and many are excited to see us arrive – then they know their odds of getting last pick have decreased dramatically.

I have spent many mornings anticipating my name or number being called at public blind drawings, but never have I seen the waterfowl hunter turnout Harsens Island has every morning. At 5 a.m. the wind howled outside the Michigan DNR barn on the island and hunters poured out of vehicles, scurrying to register their draw cards. Trucks, boats and dogs filled the parking lot, and camouflage–clad people were everywhere. Old men, women and boys alike tossed their number into the computer drawing system, and at 5:30 a.m., the sealed envelopes were placed in a pile on the counter.

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Awaiting the draw on Harsens Island

The drawing rules and regulations, along with shooting times and other miscellaneous property rules, were read before the draw. One old-time duck hunter, more than likely bored after hearing the same set of regulations read to him for the 500^th time, stepped forward to choose an envelope. The time had come. The moment we had all rolled out of our warm beds to face the cold north wind for was finally at hand. The roar of chatter that resonated from the waterfowling warriors in the crowd fell silent and it was like waiting to be chosen for an Academy Award. The smell of strong coffee and old duck hunting jackets overwhelmed my senses as my ears and eyes focused on the old man drawing the envelope.

Numbers were announced quickly, “42, 7, 13, 19, 36, 20…” Once they read 40 numbers, I just stepped to the side to let everyone else celebrate their great fortune. The early-chosen hunters marched toward the front, beaming a smile from ear-to-ear, to select a spot in the flooded corn while the rest of us lurked near the back to watch the big board of blinds dwindle. I sipped my coffee and watched as the victorious ones danced their way toward the parking lot, floating through the air on the expectation of killing a limit of greenheads. The trick at Harsens is to get an early enough pick to be in the flooded corn while the rest hunt the surrounding marsh.

My blind was out in the marsh. I won’t mention what number because it is of no significance, as it is more than likely a place the locals would like to avoid if at all possible. But the marsh was a magical place, with shadows cast from the towering vegetation. We tucked ourselves back into the cattails at shooting time and watched as our two dozen decoys bobbed in the wind. Shotgun blasts filled the air around us, but I enjoyed the marsh’s enveloping aura and watched ducks from a distance. The wind rattling the cattails provided a constant thrashing sound, and we watched flocks of birds streaming along the horizon.

We managed to shoot a drake wigeon, which kept our group from putting the dreaded zero on the board. I stood outside the barn after checking in and watched as hunters checked game straps of mallards one after another. The excitement of hunters who ended up with great draws was contagious, and my optimism for the following day’s hunt soared.

A larger crowd than Tuesday; Wednesday morning was just as windy and looked to be a duck hunter’s kind of day. My heart was set on a good draw as the guys I planned to hunt with were just as optimistic as I. The numbers were drawn, “16, 21, 51, 36, 2, 47…”

We made our way out to the marsh around 6:30 a.m., and I would say what number blind we chose, but it’s not significant as it is more than likely another place the locals try to avoid.

Good or bad draw, the hunts were spectacular. While other groups managed to put up greater numbers, our group was graced with the marsh’s beauty and serenity on both mornings. Filling a bag limit can sometimes be forgotten, but the time spent hunting in the marsh on Harsens Island is one that I will never forget.

Following an article I wrote in the April E-newsletter about a duck hunter who was caught in a life-threatening situation while boating a river, I received several stories from members who found themselves in similar situations. These stories of hunts gone wrong all had a common theme: the boater had gotten complacent.

There is no room for complacency in a duck boat in near-freezing temperatures and constantly shifting winter weather patterns. Even a simple navigational error could have catastrophic results. Waterfowl hunters don’t have the luxury summertime boaters do of being able to hop back in if you fall out while fishing. Hypothermia can set in quickly and being prepared will save lives.

• Always wear Coast-Guard-approved life vests. I normally keep a couple extra vests in the boat for added floatation if the boat were to flip.
• Get camouflage life vests. This will allow members of your party to wear them while hunting. If hunting from the boat, tripping over a decoy bag or shell box could send someone into the water. There’s no sense in taking the life vest off just because the motor isn’t running.
• Water levels can be a huge concern when hunting big rivers. Stay up to date on changing water levels. Rising water can carry large amounts of debris, including 50-foot trees tumbling end over end, which I have seen on several occasions.
• Keep a compass on hand at all times, especially if you’re heading into flooded timber. It’s easy to get turned around in an area where everything looks so much alike.
• Have a dry box. Keep a change of clothing, blanket, matches or lighter to start a fire if needed, and maybe even some energy bars. Every boat should have a first-aid kit, but put an extra one in your dry box.



• Keep your fuel tanks full. You never know when you might have to take an extra-long boat ride in an emergency.
• Stay up to date on the weather. A simple shift in wind direction can cause some big bodies of water to change for the worse in minutes.

The most important aspect of boating big water in the winter is to respect the danger. Knowing what can happen and how quickly an average waterfowl hunting day can turn into a survival situation is something that needs to be in the front of your mind at all times. Being prepared is the right thing to do, but avoiding the situations altogether is the goal.

If you’re unsure or uncomfortable launching the boat on any given morning, don’t launch. It’s hard to make the decision not to hunt when you’re sitting at the boat ramp hours before sun up, but there are days when you will have to make that choice.

We are waterfowl hunters and we expect it to be cold and wet. Most of us have cut our teeth sitting in miserable weather, and we relish the fact that those who don’t waterfowl hunt think we are a little crazy for leaving the warmth of our beds for freezing rain and muddy blinds. Foul weather is just part of what we do, but maintaining respect for the danger and how we do it is ultimately our own responsibility.

Stay safe on the big water this season.

Please share your big-water boating tips with us. Your tip might be one that saves someone’s life this fall.

Additional Resources

• Video: Big Water Safety Tips
• Article: Hunting Moving Waters, by Wade Bourne
• Video: Life Jacket Use

The other day I was sitting face-to-face with Rod Haydel in his office asking him about calling tips. Picturing myself wailing away on my old Haydel’s DR-85 and then watching him call with his, I had a duck-calling epiphany – I am not a very good caller.

I don’t feel like I am a bad caller, but Rod’s three-minute instructional interview held my attention like a flock of wing-set Canada geese. He spoke about when he doesn’t call, which reminded me of hunting public property in Indiana where 50 hunters in a one-mile radius hail called every bird in sight until they were blue in the face. He talked about focusing on calling when the ducks are flying with the wind and not against it. He also uses very few feeding calls, just single quacks.

While every duck and every morning is different, here are a few simple tricks that might help you put more birds in your bag.

• Don’t be afraid to not call. If you’re on the “X” because of quality scouting and knowledge of the local birds, let the call just hang on the lanyard. The birds are in the area because there is something there they want. It might be food or a quiet place to rest. Remember, your call won’t hate you if you don’t use it on a couple flocks.
• There is a time and a place for the hail call – use it then, not all the time. I’ve seen guys belt out hail calls when ducks are swinging no more than 50 yards out, ready to set down. You might as well be on a trombone, because that loud hail call will offer you nothing more than a farewell view of tail feathers every time if the birds are that close.
• Call to the situation. After a few unsuccessful attempts to call birds in, change your cadence. Don’t be afraid to lower or raise the decibel level if needed. Some of the best callers I know will make changes throughout the morning to sweet talk mallards into the decoys.
• Listen to live birds. The off-season or while scouting is a perfect time to sit and listen to live birds go back and forth. Remember the cadences and how other birds react to each type of quack. Talk duck.
• Trust in your hunting companions’ honesty. Ask them if your calling sounds all right. If they are good hunting partners, they might just tell you to put the call away, or to keep on it. While you’re busy focusing on your calling and the birds’ reactions, you might not be able to hear some subtle errors in your calls. When I first started waterfowl hunting, the guys I went with finally told me one day, “Chris, please put the kazoo away.” It was a little disheartening, but it also motivated me to work on my calling. What you are hearing might be very different from what your partners or the ducks are hearing. I can sing Billy Joel’s “Piano Man” perfectly to a note… but my wife is honest enough to tell me never to sing in public.

Three years ago, I wrote a column about my black lab’s final year in the field. His arthritis in his front-right shoulder was more than he could bare, and his ability to get through the high grass and withstand the bitter cold kept him from the field. Last year, I went almost the entire year without taking him. He would whine, make every attempt to jump like he used to and, as I walked out the door, he would give up knowing he wasn’t going, and limp back to his bed.

Toward the end of December last year, we had some unseasonably warm weather and an early-morning scouting trip revealed a nice hole where ducks could be decoyed in the evening. The temperatures had reached nearly 60 degrees that day and, while packing gear for the evening hunt, my lab Cole nudged his big head under my chin. As usual, he wanted to go. This time, I was out of excuses why he couldn’t.

We were hunting a very small slough that was no more than 12 inches deep all the way around. If we did manage to shoot something, it would fall no more than 100 feet away, and there was a path he could follow down to the pond. Today, Cole was going to get to do something he had wanted to do for more than a year and couldn’t.

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After a successful goose hunt

The story behind Cole and me was much like many other dogs and owners. At 16 years old I wanted a lab pup. I had zero money, and he was free. We were a great fit immediately. That dog followed me everywhere. I knew nothing about dog training, but knew I didn’t want to swim the icy waters for my own ducks, and he was willing to help me out. No papers, no training, just an uncanny ability to be willing to follow me through hell. He dove hunted, rabbit hunted and even scared a few quail up to shoot. He trained me more than I trained him, and luckily he knew just what he was doing.

When I left for the Navy, he stayed behind and became the community dog. My dad would take him out, but if he couldn’t go, there were several of my friends that needed him. Cole welcomed the adventure.

This warm day in December, my three hunting companions and I loaded the 110-pound lab into the back of my Jeep Cherokee and lifted him out when we arrived. He sat patiently while I put on his old brown camouflage dog vest that was worn and torn like a battle flag. As he headed into the grass, my best friend, who had hunted with Cole while I was gone, stood next to me and watched him, not limping, sniffing through the weeds. We knew every step was a painful one, but Cole didn’t dare show it. When I turned to say something to my friend, he was crying. It was emotional watching this dog that was once the essence of power and an unstoppable force against any duck or goose. The dog literally taught us what was important about waterfowl hunting, the nature of the passion, the love for the game you could say. As we stood there together watching him head for this little pothole like he had been there before, we both wept.

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As the ducks began to circle overhead, Cole and I sat back in the grass, watching the sky filled with ducks. He watched, sat patiently and listened for the roar of our guns. On this day, he was in no hurry. He had no cares in the world as he leaned his body weight against me, just doing what he has always loved to do, he was duck hunting and most importantly, he was duck hunting with me.

A lone mallard drake dropped into the pothole, and with minutes to spare on shooting time, one of my hunting partners cleanly dropped it in the decoys. Cole, wide-eyed, looked at me and then back over his shoulder as if one of our younger labs were going to beat him to it. But it was his bird. I sent him and he leapt for the water, took two steps and sprang as far out as he could, legs outstretched. He hit the water, flipping over decoys with the splash. Then he slowly completed the short retrieve. A big greenhead in his mouth, his eyes lit up with that old intensity only a lab possesses when birds are being retrieved, a look I had missed the last couple years. With the bird delivered, Cole simply looked at all of us, turned and limped back toward the Jeep, symbolically retreating into the setting sun.

A great dog’s hunting career ended that day, and the family was forced to put him down on March 18, 2008. His last retrieve was a great bird, in a mystical spot, with great friends. If Cole’s life were to be defined in one hunt, it wouldn’t be the 300-yard retrieves, ice-breaking moments, triple and quadruple Canada goose retrieves he had done so many times. It would be defined by his last hunt, the devotion to friends, finding great places to hunt and the simplicity of one retrieve – one last mallard.

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By mid-July I can almost hear my 11-87 cycling shells in my sleep. I dream of crouching behind a cattail stand, watching as a small group of ring necks approach from 300 yards. Zipping above the water no more than 5 inches, resembling fighter jets across open water, drifting left and right as if testing their aerobatic ability, but staying on track – it’s opening day and the moment of truth is upon me.

At 100 yards, my heart is beating from my chest, my knuckles white from the gun’s weight and my tightly clenched fingers. I am standing by the time they get to 35 yards and a group of four ring necks cruise the outside edge of my decoys, “buzzing the tower” and testing my restraint, which is gone by now. I fire once at 25 yards, throwing a shower of water up behind the group and they seemingly pull back on the stick, hit the afterburners and head for the clouds. My second shot is low and I know it as soon as I pull the trigger. Putting a good lead on the closest bird as it climbs I follow, follow and take the gun from my shoulder. Opening day, the first opportunity has come and gone, at about 30 miles per hour and not looking back.

I wake from this dream to look over at my black lab, who on an average night is snoring somewhere in bed; but he is sitting upright on the floor staring into my freshly opened eyes. His stare is focused, he’s wide awake and I feel like he heard me shoot – twice – and he is giving me a look that says, “It’s a lot more fun for me if you hit the few ducks you actually get to shoot at.” Did he just have the same dream I did?

The anticipation of opening day begins to tug at a waterfowl hunter’s emotions somewhere between last season’s final day and mid-summer. Is it that we miss the blind, big water, marsh, cold wind, gun report, birds? Or do we just miss the anticipation the night before a hunt? Maybe it’s the whole package, but every waterfowl hunter manages to have their own piece of that pie that makes them yearn for yet another day afield, and opening day has its own set of rules and traditions.

Opening day rituals for me and the small band of hunters I spend most days in the blind with have been everything from an opening day cigar to just an energetic handshake welcoming one another to another season in the blind. There is, however, one small aspect that I have brought into every opening morning.

This tradition was passed on to me not from hunting, but from the Indianapolis 500. Funny, most people don’t put the two together either, but I have managed to pull this one from race tradition. Growing up in Indiana, there was nothing more important than high school basketball and the Indy 500. As a kid, I attended practices, qualifications and even races. The month of May has been a black-and-white-checkered-race-flag blur for me since I’ve been able to see. Race day was a holiday, and at the race, after Jim Nabors belted out “Back Home Again in Indiana” (a tearjerker for any Hoosier race fan) my family and their race companions would turn to one another with emotion filling their eyes and reach out for a simple handshake. “Safe race this year, safe race,” they would say moments before the deafening roar of high-octane engines would drown out any other sound. Even as a child I followed suit, offering “safe race” and a handshake to all in the crowd.

Doing this for years, it never dawned on me what this was all about. It was a minuscule gesture, but its meaning ran deep. They thanked one another for sharing this moment; cherished their fellowship; and celebrated another opportunity to sit in the stands, cheer and watch the race. It was about the atmosphere, the time of year when they all came together and cheered for a common cause – the one day they looked forward to every year and would never forget. It was about the safety of the drivers and their crews and the fans, which meant these fans cared more for the actual aura, tradition and well being of the race itself and not who won or lost. It was about respect for a tradition and a thank you for joining us in the bleachers this May day. The excitement was swept up in this emotional handshake, and just being there, with these people, at this place, was the most important thing in the world.

It’s the same with spending a morning in the blind, it’s not about how many birds fall to the guns, but looking forward to sharing that next moment in a place you love, with people you care so much about. Minutes before shooting time, I make a point to make my way around the blind, with a black lab on my heels as if he is offering the same gesture, shaking hands with everyone, offering a simple, “Safe hunts this year, safe hunts.” Similar to the Indy 500’s opening ceremony, the few moments we share in the marsh’s darkness before shooting time is a moment we won’t forget. We are happy to be there and we thank each other for sharing our passion, this place and these traditions. Our safety, our waterfowl hunting traditions and our fellowship takes precedence over everything else that happens from here on out.

The only thing that bothers me is why I am still dreaming about ring necks all the time. Why not greenheads dropping into the decoys? And why do I always miss? It’s probably because there’s no sense in totally destroying my shooting confidence in late July – there’s a whole new season that will soon take care of that.

“Safe hunts this year. Safe hunts.”

–Chris

After the decoys have been sorted properly, rigged and prepped for use, my opening day anticipation turns towards innovation. This part-time inventor stage in my life comes every season, and it’s always something I have seen in a catalog. I tell myself, “I can make one of those. That would be easy.” There’s a good chance it could be easy; the problem is that it’s never been easy for me.

My wife, the provider of rational thought in the family, offers me the yearly words of encouragement, complemented by the rolling eyes and ‘Don’t hurt yourself’ speech. Heading to the garage, enthusiasm fueling the mission, there is only one constant this time of year: Something’s going to get broken.

Last year, I “needed” several items for the upcoming season. First was a roof for my boat blind. I felt the lack of overhead cover was causing birds to flare on a regular basis. I decided the roof needed to be in three short pieces and attached to the blind frame so shooters could lean up, throw the roof back and shoot. Simple enough. I scratched out a couple ideas and went to work.

Needing something durable, yet easy to cut and cover, I started out with a 4′ x 8′ piece of cattle fencing. I spray painted it and cut it into 2′ x 3′ pieces. After cutting it down, I realized that my measurements were a little short. One thing to note is that measurements taken at this stage in the game come merely from an eyeball, or I hold it up in the air and say, “That’s about right.” So I got another piece of cattle fencing and started over.

With the correct measurements, my overhead doors were ready to be attached. Using short pieces of camouflage nylon rope, I made two hinges on each door and secured them to the blind. I covered each roof piece with camouflage burlap and grasses. It looked great.

I climbed into the boat, now a waterfowl hunting cavern, and made every effort to get comfortable. The first thing I noticed was that it was well camouflaged on top. So well that a flock of mallards could be sitting on the new roof and I wouldn’t be able to see them. I needed something to prop up the doors about 4″ to offer a glimpse of what’s coming toward the blind. I cut a one-by-two into 4″ pieces, drilled holes and attached them to the other side of the blind. Now my roof sat at an angle offering shooters a view of the sky. Well, about four inches of sky.

Sitting in my normal position in the boat, I crouched under my new roof and excitedly tossed back the door as if ducks were hovering over the decoys. The rope hinges held and it opened, swinging all the way back out of my way as I stood pretending to pick out greenheads and fire. In fact, the hinges worked so well, it swung into the back side of the blind and the sharp edges left on the cattle fencing cut through the camouflage material and grasses on the other side. Other than ripping a gaping hole in the other side of the blind, I immediately found another problem: The sharp edges that shredded the material on the blind’s other side pushed cleanly through the material and managed to cut through the back of my T-shirt and slice down my back as I went to stand up. Obviously, this was a problem.

Bleeding, needing to replace one entire side of my boat’s blind material, and still confident this would work, I went back to the drawing board. When I say “drawing board,” I mean inside to clean the blood off my back and have the Rational-Minded One judge whether or not I needed to go to the hospital. A little hydrogen peroxide, a new T-shirt and still overcome with optimism, I headed back the garage to start from scratch.

Normally, at some point in my waterfowling-gear inventor stage, I call for backup: My father. I called and my mother told me to come over as quickly as possible, my dad has done something crazy, but she didn’t explain. I pull up to his house and his smile was ear to ear, nearly overshadowing the 20′ x 10′ box-frame blind he had constructed in his backyard out of ¼-inch PVC piping, which he spray painted green and covered in camouflage burlap and grasses. Great inventors think alike.

While my wife and mother shared their thoughts on our insane behavior, we contemplated the capabilities of my dad’s blind, which I think he designed for 12 people and 14 dogs to hunt comfortably. He showed me where he nearly cut off his thumb with a hacksaw and I explained why there was blood seeping through my shirt. It’s amazing what the passion of waterfowl hunting will do to a family.

FOR SALE: Three boat blind tops made from cattle fencing and a 20′ x 10′ PVC waterfowl hunting blind. Both items have never been used, but we are optimistic about their functional abilities.

As opening day creeps closer, share your innovative waterfowl hunting creations with us here at Ducks Unlimited.

–Chris